


Crown of Lies

by Nevijek



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: "Woons", Age Difference, Anduin x Taelia, Don't Drink and Fic, F/M, Jaina x Thrall, Light help me, Lionshee, Lor'themar x Thalyssra, Multi, Multiple Ships Will Sail, My Feelings x Alcohol, Nathanos x Azshara, Nathanos x My Hunter... I'm kidding, Opposites Attract, Post-World of Warcraft: Legion, Pre-World of Warcraft: Battle for Azeroth, Sylvanas come back, Sylvanas x Anduin, Sylvanas x Nathanos, Teldrassil never happens, We still going to Kul Tiras, We still going to Zandalar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2020-10-29 19:16:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20801594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevijek/pseuds/Nevijek
Summary: How we get to Zandalar and Kul Tiraswithoutburning Teldrassil. This is Battle for Azeroth, without a faction war. (Multi-Ship)





	1. A Bargain

_ Temple of the White Tiger, Pandaria _

The last time Sylvanas Windrunner had been at the sacred temple—a neutral ground between the factions—it had been to attend the trial for Garrosh Hellscream. She had not imagined that she would return there, much less to meet with Varian’s dreamer boy, such an ill-suited heir, to discuss politics. Yet the boy had been cunning and found a way to make her attendance  _ almost _ mandatory, less her rejection was interpreted as an affront against his proposal of peace. She did not want a war on  _ their _ terms. When Sylvanas received the summons, penned by the very hand of Anduin Wrynn, he had shared that there was  _ much more _ he needed to discuss with her than peace and promised the meeting would be worth her time. Thus she had made it to the rendezvous clad in full armor but leaving her weapons at the gate as was mandated. What could the boy possibly have to tempt her with? What could he offer to make her sit at the plush chair he’d set out for her in the color of the Horde? How diplomatic of him, she thought, as expected of a well-groomed, peace-prattling brat. 

The boy was not alone.

Behind him was Genn Greymane, snarling quietly under his breath as she approached with leisurely steps. Next to the wolf was the blood elf whose loyalty was sold to the House of Wrynn. Sylvanas had not come alone either. Nathanos was only a step behind her, equally displeased to see Greymane there, but far more subtle in his contempt than the wolf-king. Her dark rangers patrolled the skies above the temple where Sylvanas had also seen Alliance riders. Their distrust for one another was palpable, but Anduin kept the ruse far better than his companions. He stood when she finally reached them. The way he extended his hand was a test. Sylvanas’ lips curled at the corner as she took it firmly in her gloved grip if only to spite the man who had taken it upon himself to act as a surrogate father to the young king. There was a map of their world spread across the round table between the two chairs which promised they would talk about more than peace. If Greymane had suffered attending the meeting, then she thought it possible that Gilneas would come up for negotiation.

Anduin’s tone was friendlier than his posture. “I’m glad you could make it, Warchief.”

Sylvanas liked that the only source of light illuminated the table, shrouding the rest in comfortable shadows. She did not sit or move into the light. Her voice echoed with some derision as she said, “Your letter did not leave me much of a choice.”

“I hardly think myself capable of making you do anything you do not wish to do, Lady Windrunner. I certainly hope you are here because you value what we have to discuss _ . _ ”

“By sending your intentions for peace to  _ all _ the leaders, you left me no choice but to come here and waste my time.”

Anduin tilted his head, placing a hand on Greymane as the wolf was about to shout something regrettable. With a grunt, he stepped back into the shadows, his gaze glowing with unbridled fury toward her. Anduin turned back to her—those eyes of his clear and confident. She was surprised by how well he held his own in front of someone who must have been painted to him as a monster. Were the rumors not that his father had been betrayed by her? Did the Alliance not blame her for his death? 

“You consider peace a waste of time, Warchief?”

“Of course she does, Anduin! What did you expect from someone who sows discord?” 

Sylvanas pointed at the Gilnean king, transformed into his cursed form as he was, ready to pounce at the slightest provocation. Her anger simmered beneath her feral smile as she recalled his intrusion at Stormheim, but her words remained coldly indifferent, echoing with a calm she did not feel. Nathanos remained quietly by her side as tense as a bow pulled tautly. He did not take kindly to the way the wolf was looking at her or the menacing growl that only they could seemingly hear.

“So long as hatred boils in the hearts of the  _ living _ —wars will rage on.”

“As if hatred only dwelled in the living!” Genn roared. “You are spite incarnate,  _ banshee _ . You cannot fool me! I see you exactly for what you are.”

“You should have brought a muzzle for your dog, boy-king.”

Anduin sighed. “I would appreciate if we remained cordial, Lady Windrunner.” He glanced at Genn. “Do not insult her, please. Let us remain civil.” 

Sylvanas shrugged her shoulders, her fingers tracing the edge of the round table. “I take no offense to be called a banshee for that is what I became,” she said. “And I had a human much like you to thank for that,  _ young king _ .”

“I am well aware of your history, Lady Windrunner, but I asked you here to discuss the future, not the past. We cannot change what has happened; we can only learn from it and make sure not to repeat those mistakes.”

“You should not have brought  _ him _ along if that was your intent,” said Sylvanas. “He is living in the past, hardly an example of what you say we ought to strive for.”

Anduin spoke with conviction. “Genn has agreed to peace.”

“Has he?”

Sylvanas took a deliberate step toward the wolf and had the young king not held him back, he might have lunged for her, unable to help his instincts. Nathanos was quick to step between them; he knew that she did not need defending from the mutt, but it was done out of reflex. Had Genn tried to lay a hand on her he would have found the dagger she’d hidden under her left gauntlet stabbed through his throat. 

“If  _ this _ is how your precious Alliance moves on from the past, then the drums of war will sound far sooner than I expected.”

Anduin seized those words. “You have already thought of war, Lady Windrunner?”

Sylvanas leaned over the table, her taloned finger landing on Silithus. “Here is the reason for the next war, young king. Your spies have already made their way there and caused casualties.”

“You have commanded the Horde to dig deeper into the wound Sargeras left on Azeroth. Surely, by now, Magni made his way to you and informed you of where we stand in regard to this problem that affects all of us.”

“Yes, the Diamond King has delivered his message.”

“And you remain there? Digging?” Anduin was puzzled. “Azeroth is dying. Ruptures have been found all over the world and if we don’t heal those wounds—if we keep digging them deeper—we might not have a planet left to fight for.”

Sylvanas had heard the same cryptic warning from Magni Bronzebeard. She did not ignore the urgency of the message, but the news of their dying planet had not stopped the Alliance from trying to get their hands on the precious supply. Their hypocrisy to condemn the Horde for their decision to mine Azerite was laughable. Already Sylvanas knew that a shipment of the ore had made it to Stormwind. The young king had probably touched it—seen and felt what it could do. Sylvanas, who had been dead for so many years, had felt  _ alive _ holding the tiniest fragment—had seen possibilities beyond her imagination—she could only imagine what it had shown the boy in turn. The effects of the ore were felt by  _ all _ who touched it with a clarity and heightened sense of being that was almost addictive.

“Genn, Valeera, if you would...” Anduin looked at his companions. “I would like to have a moment  _ alone _ with the Warchief. Would you wait for me outside?”

“I will not leave you alone with this traitorous banshee,” snarled the old wolf.

“Please, Genn. I trust the Warchief will respect the rules of this sanctuary.”

Sylvanas canted her head, voice mockingly sweet. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

He glared at her for a long moment. “I don’t like this,” said Genn. “But I will trust you know what you are doing. I will be outside. If she tries anything—”

He did not bother to finish his threat. Sylvanas observed the old wolf walk off with his tail between his legs. Valeera followed after him—not without warning her in Thalassian about what would happen if she hurt her fair-haired boy. Young as the priest was, he had won the hearts of many people; their loyalty denoted that he could grow to very dangerous potential, if allowed. 

“I will wait outside, my lady.”

Sylvanas was pleased that she did not even have to speak for Nathanos to know exactly what she wanted. Without Genn at his side—injecting venom after every word she spoke—Sylvanas could unravel the priest and find his true reasons for calling her there. When the footsteps of their companions no longer echoed in the great temple, Sylvanas turned the young man. 

“Now then, child. We are alone. What do you  _ really _ want from me?”

Anduin seemed ruffled by the reminder of their age gap, but he did not bother to respond to her provocation. Instead, he went directly to the point, to her surprise. 

“You gather Azerite because you see it as a resource that can help defend you—and the Horde—from us. If we signed a peace accord, we could put those concerns to rest. We do not have to fight each other, Warchief. We can work together, as allies.”

“I was part of your Alliance once, boy-king, and it did not end well for me.”

“I understand it did not,” he admitted. “And I am sorry that it didn’t.”

“Spare me. I did not come here to be placated by you.”

“Let’s be frank, then.”

“The Alliance is not our only enemy,” she said. “Surely you can understand that much is true. As much as you call for peace, you know that sometimes war comes for us. As it did when the Legion decided to invade us again.”

“My desire for peace does not blind me from realizing some wars are beyond our control, but what I want is for us to not fight  _ each other _ anymore. There is no reason,” he said. “We are both established factions. You are no longer oppressed. You have land and resources. You have thriving communities that continue to prosper and grow.”

“The rest of the Horde does. I do not and my attempts to ensure the survival of  _ my _ people is met with distrust, opposition, and sabotage.”

“I want to fix that.”

“You say you are not blind, but you are, young king. I see it in your eyes—shimmering like the rays of the sun in a new dawn—that  _ hope _ .” The word tasted like poison in her mouth. “Hope dies, as does the body, little lion. You would do well to see the flaws in your mortality.”

“And the alternative is better?”

“Death quells useless things.”

“Was that not what Arthas thought as well, Lady Windrunner?” He regarded her for a moment. “Did he not want to create an army of undead because he thought that was the only way to—”

Here, she bristled. “Are you implying I have the same plan?”

“You champion death more than he ever did.”

Her whole body stiffened. Her eyes glowed redder—she could see them reflected in his blue gaze. The comparison to Arthas had not been hurled by the young king first. Garrosh had questioned the difference between her and Arthas, too. She knew that some of her very own— a few of the Forsaken—questioned her choice to raise more undead to their ranks from fallen soldiers. The Horde had never trusted her either. Vol’jin chose her as warchief in spite of his ill-feelings toward her and though she knew had a suspicion of  _ why _ he had placed that burden on her it was foolish to believe the others did not question his sanity during his final moments. She was secretive, manipulative, and cold—she knew—and the Horde, brutes though they were, aligned themselves with many useless values that would serve them defeats in the long run. But most of the Forsaken  _ understood. _ They saw the world and its failings as clearly as she did. They knew the futility of all that the living clung to. 

Death offered such clarity. 

The living judged her choices through their blind eyes. They could not see past their honor and love and hope. They couldn’t understand. There was a clear difference between her and Arthas, but naturally, they could not see it. Sylvanas did not appreciate that Anduin made her question herself on such profound matters so easily. Scoffing to herself, she took a seat in the chair that he had set for her. Crossing her legs, she leaned back comfortably, watching the young king who then sat across from her, hands clasped together ever observant of her. 

“I am not here to have an existential debate with one so innocent,” she said. “You called me here to discuss a peace treaty and I have yet to hear your conditions. Am I to believe the Alliance wants nothing more than a promise we will not strike at the first opportunity? I doubt you are so simple.”

“There would be conditions for the sake and safety of  _ our _ people—yours and mine,” he agreed. “Azerite can be a valuable resource, in this, we can all agree, but we must be careful. The pace at which the goblins dig—their disregard for the planet—is something we must correct. I propose we limit how much of it is sourced and keep all Azerite in neutral territory.”

“Such as Pandaria?”

“Do you have an objection?”

“You have many allies here,” she said. “I know you spent quite some time running around causing trouble for your father while he had his hands full of problems.”

Anduin clenched his jaw. “I assure you the bonds I formed here were personal, not political. Most still don’t know who I am.”

“Oh yes, I heard some interesting rumors about just how  _ personal _ you got with some.”

“The Warchief minds gossip?”

“Only when it’s about the opposite faction.” 

“I assure you Pandaria would be secure—”

Sylvanas shook her head. “I object. I will not risk keeping our resources under the control or surveillance of those who can become biased against the Horde. The Pandaren have proven great allies, but they have split among us. I would be more inclined to agree to your condition, so long as each faction kept their own reserves of Azerite. The amount and location can be verified by neutral parties if you so desire.”

“What is to say you won’t keep more than you show?”

“What is to say you will keep  _ everything _ in Pandaria?” She sneered. “Do you understand? There is no agreement to be had if we cannot trust one another and you will never trust me, young king.”

“Give me a reason to trust you.”

“I could ask you the same. I have no reason to believe in your good faith.”

“What would you ask of me?”

She chuckled. “What a dangerous question, little lion.”

He exhaled tiredly. “You are a difficult person to speak to.”

“Perhaps you need to work on your diplomacy, Your Majesty.”

“Let’s suppose I agree to your terms regarding how we store the Azerite—”

“Oh, you have more conditions, do you?” 

“Gilneas.”

Sylvanas rolled her eyes. “Of course. The wolf would not agree otherwise.”

“It is such a small piece of land if you think about it, Warchief. It would hardly cause you any trouble to relinquish it and it would mean much to them.”

“I doubt any of those mutts could stand living there now.”

“They want their home back.”

Sylvanas felt an inkling of something familiar. At one point she had longed for home, too. To return to the land that she knew by heart, could walk through with her eyes closed, to feel the warmth of the sun and see the colors in all their glory, but it was a futile sentiment. Nothing would ever be the same in Quel’Thalas. The mark Arthas had left her people—her very land with—would last as long as Azeroth did.

“I will not have that scheming wolf near the Forsaken.”

“Are you unwilling to compromise?”

“I do not  _ need _ to compromise, boy-king.”

“I asked you to remain cordial.”

“And it is my choice not to oblige,” she said. “Who do you think you are to presume to tell me how I must speak?”

“I am the High King of the Alliance.”

“A title only granted by birthright, not merit. I pay no respect to boys playing king. I am not bound to your norms any longer and gone are the days I bowed to  _ anyone. _ ”

“I have a name,” he said with some suffering. “If your pride does not allow recognizing my title, I have no issues with you using my name, Lady Windrunner.”

“Another name you are unworthy of bearing.”

Anduin’s grip tightened over the armrests of the chair. “Your methods of goading need work. You can try to make me falter, but I will keep pushing for peace.”

“Yes, go on,” she mocked. “Tell me more of the plans you believe will ensure peace. I am  _ dying _ to hear all about it.”

Anduin’s mouth twitched. “Did you just make a—”

“You are so surprised,” she snorted. “Did you think our sense of humor died with us?”

“I admit I do not know much about the Forsaken, but that is something I would like to change. In fact, that is part of my proposal for peace between all of us. I would like to  _ reunite _ the Forsaken with their loved ones.”

Sylvanas stared at him. “You… _ what _ ?”

“Certainly, there must be a way to reconcile them.”

She laughed so loud the sound vibrated through the temple, rumbling the stones. “Reconcile  _ us _ with the living?”

“I believe it’s possible,” he insisted. “I believe if we know more about the Forsaken—what it’s like to be undead—then we can expel fears of the unknown and reunite your people with their living counterparts; family, friends, lovers.”

Her thoughts went to Vereesa. 

Sylvanas had allowed herself the hope that she could have a family again, that she could  _ love,  _ but the attempt had left her more broken than Arthas had left her. There could be no reconciliation with the living; they existed on opposite ends of a spectrum. Vereesa had made that painfully clear. Not only had she rejected her offer to live in the Undercity, to rule by her side, but she had also cut her out of her life  _ completely. _ Vereesa had not wished to even maintain communication. She had discarded Sylvanas entirely, not caring what that abandonment did to her—perhaps thinking her incapable of feeling pain for her loss. That was the fate of all Forsaken. The living simply could not exist among them, just as they could not be among those who drew breath.

“You know  _ nothing. _ ”

“Then tell me.”

She stared at the absurd boy with disdain. How dare he rustle her so? How dare he disturb her with such stupid propositions? 

“Spend a week with me in the Undercity and you will understand.”

“Is that an offer?”

Her eyes went wide in disbelief. “Are you  _ considering _ it, foolish boy?”

“Why not? If it will help me understand the Forsaken, then I will go.”

“Do you not value your life?”

“I value peace more than my life.”

_ Varian, your son is a fool. The most frustrating idiot. _

“We will need each other, Lady Windrunner.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The naga have been active again—”

She rolled her eyes. “They’re a common nuisance, like murlocs.”

Anduin’s expression did not lighten. “Your sister has felt the tendrils of—”

“The void?” The single mention of her eldest sister’s name was enough to drive the dagger of betrayal deeper into her dead heart. “You would be ill-advised to mind whatever deranged prophecies her whispers speak of, little lion. Then again, you do seem to love taking counsel from the least sensible people.”

“If I told you the naga was working with an old god—”

Sylvanas’ lip twitched. “Your true motive surfaces at last!”

“Alleria said that you command the only army that might be able to stop him.”

“All this peace talk was only to hide the fact that you—the mighty Alliance who has hunted us like vermin—might actually need the Forsaken?” She laughed at the sweet irony. “Why should I extend my help to you when you turned your backs on us?”

“I did not turn my back on you,” he corrected. “Those who led the Alliance back then are gone and I am not like them. I do not think the Forsaken are an abomination.”

“Your people do,” Sylvanas said. “So, I ask you again—why should I spare you my army? Why do you think I care about what happens to you? Why should I spend my precious people on you? Let the old gods come and take all of you, for all I care.”

“We all share this world.”

“You will need to offer me something more than this world, boy-king.”

Anduin did not immediately speak. She could see he was wrestling with himself. Sylvanas began to rise from the chair—tired of wasting her time—when the boy spoke.

“I know Genn took something from you that meant a lot for the future of the Forsaken.”

Her fists clenched tighter around the armrest. “My, my—the wolf tells you about his misdeeds and is allowed to prowl freely? Or were you the one who commanded him to intercept me then?”

“I did not,” he replied. “What I have to offer is a way to return what he took from you. If you agree to peace, if you ally yourself with us—for Azeroth—then I will give you what you want for the Forsaken; a way to transcend death and the torment that may exist beyond it.”

“What would you know of  _ torment _ ?”

“I saw the hungering darkness in a vision,” he said, voice almost a whisper. 

Sylvanas would not allow herself to show interest. If her enemy saw that she was curious he would immediately gain the upper hand. She remained perfectly calm, as stiff as a stone. Anduin took it as a sign to proceed.

“If you invite me to the Undercity, I will bring proof of this miracle.”

Sylvanas loomed over him. “In five days, I will send you an escort. They will wait for you at Goldshire. Bring yourself, two guards of your choice—mutt not included in my invitation—and your miracle. You will have seven days to change my mind about not drowning you in blight before I toss you into a portal back to Stormwind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was 100% drunk when I saw the Sylvanas vs Saurfang resolution after my war campaign (Sylvanas loyalist finale) and I wrote this after that, so—you know, issues shall be noted. I'm posting this against my better judgment because I am overcome by _feels_. Though I write for my personal enjoyment, maybe others would like to come along this journey of BfA sans Teldrassil or faction war. I apologize ahead of time for being one of the worst updaters.
> 
> Warning: this is a multi-ship fanfic, but I'm not tagging others in the "relationship" portion. I don't want to deal with drama or shipping wars and refuse to insert myself in other people's ship tags just because there may be an inkling or deluge of that pairing in my own story. If you don't like Nathanos, this may not be the fic for you, since his "complex" relationship with Sylvanas is one I tend to like to explore regardless of the end-game. If you don't like OC characters, this is also not the fic for you; I'll be bringing two OCs (one per faction) as the so-called "champions/adventurers/heroes" etc. Adding characters like this makes it more fun and relaxing since I don't have to worry about characterization 100% of the time.


	2. A Petition

_ _

_ Stormwind Keep — Stormwind City, Eastern Kingdoms _

“Do you have a moment?”

Anduin Wrynn glanced up to see that Valeera Sanguinar had soundlessly come upon him as he flipped through one of the books that were piled before him on the table. She crossed her arms, unimpressed with how he had chosen to spend his last evening in Stormwind. The books in front of him detailed the Scourge invasion and the characteristics of the plague, but there was nothing on the free-willed Forsaken who had broken away from the Lich King. As he thumbed through the last disappointing volume, the young king decided that he would keep a journal during his stay at Undercity to jot down his observations and thoughts about them. After meeting Archbishop Alonsus Faol, a fire ignited in his heart; his determination to reconcile the undead with the living became an obsession. Anduin wanted to commission a scribe to write about Alonsus’ experience as a Forsaken so that it could educate the living about their undead counterparts. If the fear and prejudice against the Forsaken could be dispelled, then true peace could be achieved.

“Are you here to dissuade me from going on this trip?”

Valeera leaned her hips on the table and studied him for a moment. “You depart tomorrow. I know that I cannot change your mind about going, but I do hope you can at least listen to what I have to say and consider my petitions.”

His mouth twitched into a grin. “Plural?”

She chuckled. “Yes, I have two requests.”

“Did Genn put you up to this?”

“As much as I respect him, I have my own opinions and thoughts to voice. I am surprised that no one has made this observation yet—that not even you have considered it. Perhaps they were too surprised by Calia’s  _ transformation _ and you have been too caught up defending your plan to realize the peril before you.”

Anduin sighed. “Valeera, I have considered the dangers very carefully, I assure you. I have chosen two of the very best champions in our military to accompany on—”

“That’s not the danger I speak of.”

“Then please, enlighten me.”

“I may not have been at the meeting, but I’ve been briefed on what happened.”

“I was surprised you weren’t there,” said Anduin. “Spymaster Shaw told me afterward that you were on a personal quest. One you did not elaborate on before leaving.”

She smiled. “Hence the personal…”

It was not Anduin’s intention to push her for an explanation. He set the book he had been reading aside to give his undivided attention to the woman in front of him. He appreciated her insight, her counsel, and most importantly the frankness she always offered him. Where many others saw him as a young man whose eyes were filled with stars, Valeera recognized there was more to him; she saw him for who he was, faults and virtues, and his age was hardly as significant as others made it out to be. 

“Shaw told me that Genn was very adamantly against  _ everything _ .”

“You know how he feels about Lady Windrunner.”

“A feeling that is not exclusive to him, I assure you. Almost everyone has reasons to feel a certain way about her, Anduin—even her allies. Did you know that she was never too trusted among the Horde leaders?”

“I plan to form my own opinion about her, Valeera. Much is said, yes, but not all rumors have merit or truth. We all know that much.”

Perhaps it was that trait of his which angered his advisors and the other leaders. To say that his decision to visit Undercity had not gone over well was putting it mildly. Anduin’s more  _ innovative  _ ideas were not often particularly well received. He understood their reservations, though he grew tired of them. In the eyes of many, his vision was veiled by naivete. His goodwill—his desire for peace and his willingness to trust—were seen as flaws, perhaps even weaknesses. Genn would not undermine him so openly by calling him a fool, but he had opted to speak ill of Sylvanas in order to get the others on his side. He told everyone present that the Warchief was on a quest for immortality, one the Gilnean king had personally thwarted at Stormheim. He told them of how Sylvanas had tried to enslave a val’kyr named Eyir for reasons that went beyond the preservation of her abominations. Almost everyone found his tale troubling.

The deeply rooted hatred Genn felt for the Forsaken—for Sylvanas—corroded him, and Anduin feared that one day it would completely consume the good in his heart. It wasn’t that Anduin did not understand Genn’s anger, but he knew that those negative emotions would only destroy him in the end. Hatred was a poison that slowly killed the one who carried it until there was nothing left of them to salvage. 

Anduin had been forced to reveal who the two cloaked figures behind him were and what the existence of one of them meant for the Forsaken and ultimately for peace. No one could have imagined that they had been in a room with two undead, much less that one of them was the fallen Princess of Lordaeron. When Calia Menethil removed her cloak, revealing herself to all, the room went deathly silent. She had been raised by the Light, not resurrected by it, but was still every bit  _ Forsaken. _ As everyone stared at the woman in awe while she recounted the events that led her to that puzzling state, they realized that she was not decaying—there was no stench or signs of death upon her; the only startling aspect about Calia’s rebirth was the pearlescent quality of her pale skin and the warm golden light which shone through her eyes. 

“I heard the undead do not sleep,” said Valeera. “That has given Sylvanas enough time to plot all sorts of things. I would say the rumors—when it comes to her—have a higher chance of being true, Anduin.”

He could have rolled his eyes but refrained. “I would like to think that Lady Windrunner makes better use of her time by doing more than just plotting doom.”

“You want to see the best in everyone, Anduin. That, to me, is not being naive, but being a good person. Yet you must understand that not everyone can be reasoned with.”

“Has anyone tried?” He let that question hang for a moment. “To reason with her? To  _ listen _ to her and understand what she may want or have to say and listen with an open mind? I want to understand where she—and the other Forsaken—come from without any prejudice or suspicion?”

“Certain people cannot be afforded such compassion,” she insisted. “Your father taught you that peace is a noble cause, but—”

“Don’t bring my father into this. As far as I know, he chose to trust Sylvanas.”

“And look at what it cost him!”

Anduin clenched his jaw, fingers curling around the armrest of his chair. Genn believed wholeheartedly that Sylvanas had left Varian—no, the Alliance—to die that day, but Baine had explained otherwise. Vol’jin had been injured gravely and there had been no other choice for them but to retreat. Anduin wanted to believe Baine. He wanted to believe that his father’s trust in Sylvanas at one point had not been wasted. There was nothing they could have done to change Varian’s fate.

“I owe it to the Forsaken to offer them the chance that was denied them when they first sought refuge with us, Valeera. They are still humans. And she is your kin. They are still our people. I imagine there are some who would like their loved ones to come back home—” Anduin forced himself to speak through the knot in his throat. What he would not give to have his father back. He would love him regardless of what state he was in; he could not understand how anyone would reject their loved ones for being different. “They should not be marginalized for their state of being.”

“Do you think they will want reconciliation?”

“I suppose we will find out,” he replied. He pointed out to the world that existed beyond the safety of his palace. “The naga encroach upon our shores in unprecedented numbers. Alleria spoke to me about the void whispers growing stronger. Something will rise, Valeera, and we will all need to stand together once more.”

“And you hope to win her cooperation by bringing back to Lordaeron the true heir of the throne she occupies, Anduin?”

He quirked a brow. “Is  this your point of objection?”

“Have you considered that Sylvanas might misinterpret your actions? After all, you planned to bring Calia to Undercity, in disguise, as you brought her before the others today. Do you have any idea what she might do if you did that?”

“Do you think she is  _ that _ unreasonable?”

“Calia Menethil is the last of her lineage—the rightful Queen of Lordaeron. By some twist of fate, she is now undead, as well. Put yourself in Sylvanas’ position and try to see this from her warped perspective,” said Valeera. “The king of an enemy faction sneaks in the true queen of your kingdom and calls her the miracle that can save them from the curse of undeath—a fate that befell them, need I remind you, by the hands of that very savior’s brother. Tell me, would she be unreasonable to suspect your intentions?”

“All Calia wants is for reconciliation. She does not harbor any desire to take her throne.”

“Will she feel the same way once she is back home and sees the reprehensible things that Sylvanas is doing with—and to— _ her _ people?”

Anduin frowned. “Their practices may be unorthodox, but it is how they preserve themselves. Calia understands it and doesn’t judge them for—”

“I speak of what she does in the shadows,” said Valeera. “Have you forgotten what happened back at—”

Anduin lifted a finger. “We have no proof of  _ that. _ ”

“Which part?” she scoffed. “That she is constantly creating new horrific concoctions or that she was responsible for the incident at the Wrathgate?” Valeera shook her head. “The Forsaken are  _ hers.  _ She built up an army from a band of shambling corpses. Do you think she did so out of the kindness of her heart? No, Anduin. She wanted power. She wanted resources. These people are her guarantee. If you bring Calia with you, she will take it as an act of aggression. You would be handing Sylvanas the  _ perfect _ excuse to start a war you are trying to prevent. We cannot fight two wars, Anduin. We will not make it.”

“I know that.”

“This is my first request; do not take Calia with you.”

Anduin considered her words carefully. He had not counted that Sylvanas’ hatred for the Menethil’s could overpower her reason. He had thought her above that, too cunning to miss the opportunity of preserving the Forsaken; he thought that would outweigh whatever negative feelings Sylvanas might harbor for  _ who _ Calia was. 

“I cannot go empty-handed.”

“Take Archbishop Faol,” she proposed. “His testimony should be enough to pique the interest of the Warchief. If she wants further proof, she can meet you on your terms, in a setting that will not be misconstrued as an attempt to overthrow her or take her people from her. From a neutral ground, a truce can be negotiated, if she wants it.”

“Very well,” he conceded. “And your second request?”

“Take me with you,” she said. “I know you chose very qualified escorts, but I insist and so does my companion. Vereesa wishes to accompany us.”

Anduin’s brows shot up. “Really?”

Valeera nodded. “She believes that if she is present, she might be able to convince Sylvanas. You have to remember that she may not want what you have to offer.”

“Why would she not? She has been on a quest to preserve the Forsaken—”

“Not when such preservation comes from the Light, Anduin.”

The young king sunk back into his chair, the words hitting him like shards of glass through his heart. He had been so overjoyed by the possibility of helping the Forsaken, of seeing them endure and not rot and finding true peace that he had not considered Sylvanas might be entirely opposed to the idea because of the Light. 

_ Because the Light hurts them. _

Alonsus had tried to undergo a similar ritual and the results of their attempts had been promising; one of his limbs was entirely restored, but the process had been very painful. The Light still hurt the Forsaken and that would not change, until the transformation was entirely completed. 

“Illidan Stormrage rejected the Light and its restoration,” she reminded.

Anduin knew that. The ill-fated encounter between Illidan and Xe’ra had been told by Velen and Turalyon upon their return from Argus. 

“I truly believe that the  _ only _ person who might get through to Sylvanas and win us that peace treaty is her sister,” said Valeera. “This is why I insist that we be your escorts.”

“From what I know, their last encounter wasn’t the best.”

“Yet Vereesa came back with her life intact,” she said. “Perhaps there is something in her dead heart that still holds some measure of feelings for her sisters, Anduin. Is it not worth a try? Is it not better to have someone who is familiar with her present?”

“If Vereesa wishes to accompany us, I will not oppose. Perhaps that is exactly what we need—to stir those filial bonds and remind Lady Windrunner that there is still…”

“A reason to live?”

“I would not be so presumptuous.”

“One more thing, Anduin…” she said. “There was someone who was on her way to see you before I cut ahead of her. I fear she is upset I have made her wait out there so long.”

Valeera moved out to the hallway and disappeared to the left. After a moment, she returned with a female he recognized as one of their champions. Valeera pointed at her companion. “Lady Verose Blakemore, Champion of the Frozen Wastes, Savior of Azeroth, Hellscream’s Downfall, Defender of the—”

Verose lifted two fingers of her gloved hand and brought them up to Valeera’s crimson painted lips. “His Majesty does not need to hear such a boring list of titles every time I step into his presence, does he? And I know you surely do not like uttering them either.”

The woman’s smile was mischievous, her violet-hued eyes sparkling as they peered into Valeera’s. There was an unspoken exchange between the women that made Anduin shift uncomfortably. “What do I owe the honor of your visit at this hour, Lady Verose?”

The mage bowed before Anduin with all respect and propriety—as expected of a noble. From what Anduin knew of her—and he made an effort to know the history of his greatest champions—Verose was raised by her uncle after her parents had perished in the Second War. She had wanted to become a warrior, yet her uncle thought it was a waste that someone with such a remarkable affinity for magic spent their life swinging hefty weapons. Thus she had been sent to Dalaran and under the guidance of the Kirin Tor she had become a powerful mage. 

A few lines creased the corner of her eyes and she bore a scar as thin as a vein of lightning that slashed down over her left eye; that did not detract from how beautiful she was. Her dark hair cascaded in layered waves down her back. Her robe was regally intricate—in a deep lavender color that complimented her eyes. The mage had been present during the meeting with the Alliance leaders, along with Spymaster Shaw and High Commander Wyrmbane. As a representative of the Kirin Tor and an Archmage whose accolades had won her some of the highest honors in their military, it had been imperative to have her in attendance for the part concerning the naga’s attacks and their options for countermeasures. She was to be deployed soon to quell the rise of assaults. 

“I am sorry to interrupt your studies, Your Majesty,” she bowed again. “I had no opportunity to speak with you after the meeting, given the surprises you had in store for us. I had not seen Princess Calia in many years; it took me some time to recover.”

“Were you acquainted with her?”

“I went to a few festivities in Lordaeron back in the day,” she replied. “With Jaina.”

Anduin knew that the two women had studied together, but he had not had the time or chance to speak with Verose of those times. The mage stepped closer so that she could extend a letter addressed to her. Anduin’s heart raced upon holding it.

The mage smiled at him. “Jaina is coming back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blizzard wants to keep me prisoner, but Sylvanas told me she would set me free. In the meantime, I write fanfiction. While BtD is entirely outlined—the Shadowlands cinematic effectively inspired me to add what might turn out to be like 10 more chapters to "Before the Dawn" and a billion more to this one random fic. 


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